The Morris Method An Album

Manifestly a loner, Dutch was never alone. There was something attractive about the simplicity of his enthusiasms–Eddie Cantor, the Olympics, last night’s social, next week’s game–and his urgent desire to tell us what we already knew. Although his manner was egalitarian and friendly, the only opinions he seemed to value were those of authority figures: senior faculty, varsity players, and society officers. He was already, irredeemably, a frat man, Mugs [his girl friend, Margaret Cleaver] having gotten her sister’s boyfriend to pledge him to Tau Kappa Epsilon. Even in those dim distant days, people did things for Dutch…

I was introduced to Dutch several times, and each was the first as far as he was concerned. Paul asked if he recognized us from the beach at Lowell Park, whereupon he tapped his glasses and shook his head, smiling.

“Dad, I take back what I said about the fertilizer speech. Not that he’s not still full of merde, but, man, can he work up an audience. The whole country’s talking about it. Including bakery ladies.”

“The whole country?”

“Half an hour on NBC, prime time. The GOP went for broke and did it ever pay off. Money’s coming in so fast they don’t know what to do except replay the speech, over and over on local stations. Too late to save Goldwater, I think.”

“What did Reagan say? We’ve not heard about it here.”

“Oh, you know, government in your pocket, better dead than Red.”

“And you were impressed.”

“No, I was repulsed. He’s Babbitt, don’t you think I rumble that? Quick, strong, funny–dangerous as hell.”